Quiet Thoughts
by The Logical Ghost
Summary: Two musings on the brooding hero. 1: What Constantine is thinking while he dies . . . a second time. 2: Sometimes he just wishes he could be alone. Takes place during the movie. Dark, angst, rated for suicide.
1. Dying

What Constantine is thinking while he dies . . . a second time. One-shot. Takes place during the movie. Dark, angst, rated for suicide. I do not own Constantine. Trust me, you'd know if I did.

* * *

It was quiet. 

Very quiet.

_Could be because time's stopped_, John Constantine thought to himself. _Yep, that could definitely be it._

No, wait – there was a tiny sound that he could just pick up with his fading hearing. The quiet sound of something liquid creeping across the aluminum flooring, making its way over tiny particles of dust, around the larger pieces of shattered glass, and along the channels created by the indents where one "tile" met another with a border of mortar so fake it was enough to drive even the mental patients insane.

It was an effort to sigh, since his body refused to breathe anymore. It was no longer a natural process to inhale and exhale, over and over again, to keep oxygen flowing through the body and release carbon dioxide. Muscles no longer needed to contract. Nerves no longer needed to transmit electric signals. The heart no longer needed to beat. Blood no longer needed to flow in any direction except the one gravity was pulling it in.

He lay there, in an eternity of silence, waiting.

It was on purpose, he knew. He could almost hear the laughter of the devils. Give him time to think about how stupid he is! Give him time to remember how he cursed himself! How he gave up any hope of redemption!

_Fuck. You. All._

He didn't do it for them, or for himself, or for any fucking higher power. He was doing it because, damn it, there were only two entities in all existence that could save the world now. Only one of them would actually come down and save it. And that one was only going to come up here to get him. To gloat over John like the grand prize teddy bear which would have been won eventually, but which had decided to drop right into the waiting arms of the child who was going to tear out all the stuffing, one agonizing piece at a time . . .

To drag him down, down, down into the depths of utter despair . . .

Rushing, howling, screaming winds mingling with the agony of tortured cries echoing off of every corner and every wall and every speck of dust that tore at his soul with the strength of a thousand tiny poisoned swords, each one hitting home in his heart . . .

_Fuck that!_ He shook himself out of the all-too-vivid memories. _I have to go through that for an eternity. It's going to be an eternity minus every single damned second I can save._

Still, for every second he spent _not_ thinking about it, he spent another in much worse memories. The feel of starched white sheets. The odd, hollow sound of breathing through a mask. The faces above him, the needles, the machines, the reports, the cries of relief from parents who didn't understand that there was _nothing_ to be happy about. Absolutely _nothing_.

The horrible knowing, every moment, of exactly what could happen to him at any given second.

The second that would last a lifetime.

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Please review! 


	2. Alone

I want to apologize for the fact that it takes me a hell of a long time to update anything.

This is another short little Constantine musing I wrote to pair with the previous one. However, while that one takes place as he dies again, this one takes place in that moment in the move where he steps outside on the little balconey at his apartment. Hopefully, since I finished this one, I can finish the third one in the series and then I will actually have completed a multi-chapter story. Wowee!

No, seriously, I want to apologize for never finishing anything. I'm really trying. Thanks to all of you who still read my stories anyway! You all help me keep my self-esteem and sanity! Please drop a little note of review! Thanks!

* * *

He didn't want friends.

They reminded him of those nasty little demons, somewhere in the lesser ranks, that liked feeding off politicians. Frankly, anyone who could say the phrase "that's what friends are for" with a smile was more insane than the people already possessed.

He definitely didn't want lovers, or a wife. The former built their relationship on sex, which he'd pretty much sworn off after a few more interesting torments he'd gone through in those eternal two minutes. The later always wanted some kind of commitment, like coming home early or feeding the cat. Or maybe getting a decent job.

_Fuck that._

He didn't want family, or counselors, or even neighbors who actually know anything about him. He didn't want any people to cluster around him, asking questions that had no answers they would believe, demanding responsibilities he had no intention of fulfilling if he didn't feel like it, questioning his last threads of sanity until he wanted to go to hell just to get away from other fucking people.

They say Hell is other people.

Were They right?

He didn't know. He could remember so much of those two minutes that he wanted to purge from his mind and soul. There was noise that ripped apart steel plates, but there was also silence so deafening it chilled the fires of the damned. There was heat that burned and scorched, but just behind that there was the freezing cold of reality, waiting to tear you to shreds. There was pain and suffering, yes, but pain alone is nothing. Pain can only be defined by joy.

Not for nothing, he thought, are Ecstasy and Agony twins.

_They're lurking right there, right on the border of reality. Thousands of them, less than a atom's width away, always surrounding each and every single human, whispering, murmuring, speaking in voices that clutter my thoughts and crowd my mind. Angles, devils, demons, saints, each speaking in a different voice, each voice adding to a hundred thousand others to make a cacophony of sound that I can't push away, can't forget the memories, can't forget the undeniable, unshakable truth of my empty façade of a life . . ._

The salty, slightly chilled breeze brought him back to reality. To the frail steel railing, the pale white sun, the creeping shadow of the adjacent building threatening to steal the last warmth from his position, leaving him at mercy to the cold winds, with no light to balance it out.

He looked down, all those stories, to the cold hard ground below. Where the sky balanced the earth, where sun was balanced by impenetrable darkness, and where his life could be balanced by death.

And, as usual, he turned his back on that last balance. Gathered the courage to keep pushing against the forces of equality, forging his way through an unfair and uncertain life.

As he closed the window behind him, he was left in the silence of the apartment. It balanced nicely with the absence of the cold, whipping winds, the honk of car horns, and the never-ending noise of the city outside.

He liked being alone.

It balanced nicely with the fact that he was never alone.

_Please review!_


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